


The Place Where I Belong

by ComeAlongPond14



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Angry Sex, Caning, Dom John Watson, Dom/sub, Dominance, Handcuffs, M/M, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Punishment, Reichenbach Feels, Riding, Sherlock Loves John, Sub Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongPond14/pseuds/ComeAlongPond14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns to 221B, and to his Dom, after being presumed dead for two years. John must decide if he can forgive Sherlock, and allow him to come home.</p><p>Title is from Daughtry's song "Home" (shocker. XD)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Place Where I Belong

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I started way long ago, then ran out of time on, and after successfully churning out a chapter of TWAA, found I was only slightly burned out, and chose to finish this--hence why it may feel as if it changes voices at some points, I seem to write a little differently every month.
> 
> OH and this is actually inspired by a gif set I saw floating around Tumblr, with captions saying some of the dialogue I include in the beginning. I would link it for credit, but unfortunately, it seems to have been deleted. Still, it was superbly hot.

The silence between them was thick with anger, and grief, and so many things that could not be expressed in words. John sat in his old armchair, tense from head to feet, his jaw flexing as he glared across the small room at the other man. Sherlock stood near the window, his long fingers clenching anxiously at his sides as he waited.

He had apologized enough times now, had ducked his head and peered up at John with agony in his eyes as he had revealed himself to be alive, stumbling back in shock when his former friend and lover had struck him across the face, right there in the street, fury packed into the blow as months upon months of heartache frothed back to the surface. And when John had finally consented to come back to 221B to see him, he had stood well back from the Dominant man, remorse and penitence written in every line of his long body.

He hadn’t spoken much yet, aside from offering John tea, which had been refused. John, for his part, hadn’t known where to begin. He wasn’t here to fight, and of course they couldn’t just fall back on old habits, no matter how much it heated his blood to be able to sit there and see his beautiful pet in front of him once. It was clear from Sherlock’s deference and unease that he wanted it, wanted John to issue an order, to take command of the detective just as he used to be able to. Back before he had believed he was watching his lover plunge to his death from the roof of St. Bart’s.

“Two years, Sherlock.” His voice cracked as he finally broke the stillness between them, and he forced himself to ignore the way the taller man flinched at his cold tone. “You let me believe you were _dead_ , for two _fucking years_.”

Sherlock dropped his gaze, his posture hunched and uncomfortable as he controlled the impulse to kneel, to crawl to his former Dom, to beg and plead for forgiveness, for the right to even be permitted to kneel for him again. John could read all of this, and while it was reaffirming to know that he still held total power over his lanky detective, he could not cave so quickly. “Why didn’t you _tell me_?”

The submissive man swallowed convulsively, his eyes darting to meet John’s before flicking down to gaze at his feet again. “I...I’m sorry, Si--John.” He flushed at the slight verbal slip, glancing at John’s face again, and suppressing a pained whimper when it didn’t sway the Dom to hear him almost say “Sir” again, as he was once expected to. “I should have.” His knees shook, his body demanding that he offer proper submission, and he fought the urge down.

John stared at him for another long, terribly heavy moment, and then he deflated a little. His head dropped, tilting to the side, and he stared at his left hand, fingers absently drumming on the armrest. A slight shift seemed to occur, his posture and body language transitioning from furious and unyielding to firm, in control, and authoritative. Sherlock watched all of these minute changes, a tiny sting of hope lashing at his heart.

And then John’s gaze leapt up to pin him in place, and those normally gentle blue eyes were icy, glinting with possession, and a dangerous level of anger. Sherlock shivered, his body instinctively angling back toward the Dom.

John’s voice was low, vibrating with strong emotions that he didn’t know how to express in words--but which he certainly knew how to use physically. “I really...need...to punish you for this.”

All of the air slid out of Sherlock in a long, silent sigh of relief, and he felt himself fracturing, knowing there was almost a smile on his face, and unable to mask it. Gratitude surged up, reminding him of all the reasons that his beloved army doctor had earned his submission once before--and would always be able to.

“Right,” he whispered, a tremor rippling through his lean frame as he waited for instructions.

The Dom almost smirked. Turning his head, he glanced down the hallway toward Sherlock’d bedroom, the door solidly closed for now; Sherlock had not been able to bear returning to the bed that he had, over two long years ago, shared only with his lover. John raised his hand, pointing questioningly toward the sub. “Do you still keep the handcuffs where they were?”

A thrill raced through Sherlock, and he felt his cock harden before the doctor had finished speaking. His back straightened and he dipped his face, so that his gaze was framed by his dark lashes--a sight that he knew the Dom loved. Suppressing a smile, he murmured, “Yes.” Then, watching the dark look swirling through John’s eyes, Sherlock sucked in a breath and said what he truly needed to, what the doctor would need to hear in order to feel comfortable letting loose and properly punishing his sub. “And I want everything you’ve got, Sir.”

Well, that certainly worked. John’s eyebrows shot up and he smirked, a hard edge of promise shining in his eyes as he carefully unfolded himself from the armchair, jerking his chin for Sherlock to move ahead. “Bedroom, Sherlock. Now.”

Sherlock obeyed, moving deliberately so as to emphasize his arousal as he passed by the Dom, and then setting his pace to best show off the compact muscles and hard lines that two years of running and struggling had beautifully defined on his body. “Yes, Captain,” he breathed in reply, his voice little more than a low rumble, and he loved the way that John’s eyes darkened into stormclouds, his jaw flexing hard as he watched him saunter away.

When John entered the bedroom, Sherlock had removed his clothes, folded them neatly onto the desk chair, and was kneeling at the end of the bed. A pair of standard steel handcuffs rested on the sheets by his knees, as well as his riding crop, and John’s long-neglected cane.

The Dom paused for a moment, contemplating the scene, then walked forward slowly, tugging off his jacket and shirt and placing them on the chair as well. He could see Sherlock quiver with pleasure as more of his skin was exposed, and he smiled, coming close enough that Sherlock could touch if he raised his hand--but the submissive certainly knew better than to move without permission. It made for excellent torture.

Sure enough, the sub’s eyes widened fractionally to have his Dom within reach, but he did not move, aside from clenching his fingers more tightly onto his own thigh. Unconsciously he licked his lips, eyes trained on the visible curve of John’s erection straining against his jeans. The Dom smirked, rubbing one hand down over himself, enjoying the way Sherlock wriggled as if in pain at the sight.

“What will you do to earn back the right to touch, love?” His voice was light, teasing, but his eyes were dark with warning, and Sherlock forced himself to be still. His breathing was erratic, his heartbeat sounding deafening in his own ears.

He sucked in a small breath. “Anything, Sir. Anything to prove myself.”

John arched an eyebrow, recalling the one punishment his sub had truly detested. “Would you take a caning, Sherlock?”

He saw it, the small flash of fear in the sub’s eyes, the recollection of a penalty he didn’t secretly enjoy. Then he met John’s eyes, and resolve hardened his irises into ice chips as he sat a little more stiffly. “Whatever would please you, Sir.”

The Dom huffed a soft laugh, stepping close enough to inhale the faint, clean scent of Sherlock’s skin. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t push too far for a punishment, but things were different, now. One hand reached out, selecting the cane, while the other brushed the riding crop to the floor. The soft thud it made as it hit the carpet made Sherlock jolt a little, but he kept his eyes down respectfully.

John licked his lips, holding himself with military-trained stillness as he gazed at his waiting sub. “Hand me the cuffs, now.”

Obediently Sherlock grabbed the silver links, offering them with palms flat and head bowed, and John hummed with pleasure as he accepted them. Moving fluidly, he fastened Sherlock’s wrists together in front of him, then stepped back.

“Turn around, luv,” he ordered softly, noting the slight shiver across Sherlock’s shoulders at the pet name. “Face the wall and go down onto your knees and elbows.”

Once Sherlock was in place, John raised a hand to trace his fingers up and down the length of the detective’s spine, checking the line of his back to be certain the caning wouldn’t cause lasting damage. He needed to drive home a point, to make an impact, but the very last thing he wanted was to truly harm the man he’d once loved so fiercely.

And still did. Oh, how that stung.

The clash of past love and present hurt--and fury--made his voice harder, a touch colder than it had ever been, and it was perfect, making Sherlock quiver as his Dom spoke above him.

“This will not be like your old punishments used to be, Sherlock. This isn’t as trivial as you keeping something nasty in our fridge, or leaving your expensive clothes about in a heap, or speaking rudely to Mrs. Hudson just because you’re bored.” _Christ, Sherlock could be an insufferable tosser_. And yet, so utterly _good_ when he chose to be, and so very beautiful in his submission.

John sucked in a breath, maintaining his indifferent tone with some effort. “This is something else entirely.” His fingers pressed against Sherlock’s ribs, feeling where they were nearly jutting out; clearly he hadn’t paid his own needs much mind in the past two years. “This time, it is intended to _hurt_ , and quite badly. Do you understand me?”

Sherlock was trembling, just a little, struggling not to arch back into his Dom’s touch. He had longed so desperately for John’s firm hands, for his sharp voice, those loving commands. The past two years had nearly shattered him, knowing that his perfect partner was out there, grieving for him, and he could not return home yet. This, here, was everything had dreamed of for all these long months, longing to redeem himself and re-earn his lover’s good will, and that flawless, gentle dominance. “Yes, Sir,” he whispered. “I understand.”

John tightened his grip on the cane, breathing deeply through his nose. “You will count, Sherlock. Five for faking your death, ten for keeping it from me in the first place, and another five for taking two years to come home.” He waited, knowing that Sherlock was processing the idea of 20 blows from the cane--they’d never done that many at once, even with the crop, which the sub enjoyed. This was a genuine punishment.

The sub’s voice was vibrating with emotion--a good amount of it fear, and a little reticence--but still he answered dutifully, “Yes, Sir. I’ll count.”

The doctor dragged in a long breath, straightened his shoulders, and raised the cane. The first blow reverberated through his fingertips, muscle memory singing through him at the sensation of striking flesh, and a wave of pleasure went through him at the feeling. Sherlock’s skin rippled and tinged pink, then rapidly darkened to red.

“One.” The submissive’s voice was soft and breathy. He seemed to already have entered his subspace, his body still and firm as he waited for the next strike. John did not hesitate to deliver it.

By the fifth blow, Sherlock’s voice shook with pain as he whimpered the number, and John paused for a heartbeat, reaching to rub one palm soothingly over the abused skin before him. Sherlock pushed into his touch, the marginal relaxing of his shoulders indicating his gratitude for his Dom’s reassuring touch. John exhaled steadily. “What are the next ten for, Sherlock?”

“For not telling you the truth, Sir.”

Before he had finished the next ten blows, Sherlock was crying, but his voice did not go out as he panted out, “Fifteen, Sir.” John could see his tears falling, could see the dun-colored bedsheets darken with the small splashes of saline droplets as Sherlock wept quietly.

Pausing between sets again, John battled to control himself, refusing to cave and offer comfort too soon. It was not fair to either of them if he did so; he had to punish his submissive, and Sherlock needed to feel that he had appropriately atoned for hurting his Dom so badly. There was only one reason he would end the punishment too soon.

“Sherlock, give me a color.” He watched the way his words affected the sub; how he went still, then shivered as if with relief, his arms sagging for just a second before he braced himself again, wanting to be good, needing to prove his worth. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Green, Sir.”

That was enough, and John would not do him the disservice of distrusting Sherlock’s self-awareness. “What are the last five for, luv?”

“For taking two years to come home to you, Sir.”

John raised the cane again. Sherlock’s voice was watery, but unbreaking, as he counted through the last five blows.

When he heard the sub wheeze out, “Twenty, Sir,” John let the cane fall from his hand, feeling utterly drained. The rage and terror he had felt when he had first seen Sherlock, like a wraith returned from the dead, had dissipated. The numb disbelief that his lover, his friend and submissive, would deceive him so cruelly, had been worked out into the man’s own flesh, and John stared in rapture at the angry red marks violently cris-crossing Sherlock’s arse and thighs.

He became aware of the sounds that Sherlock was making, small sniffles and whimpers, attempting to gain control of himself while he waited for his Dom to make the next move. John let out a long, heavy sigh, releasing all of the negative and harmful emotions that had been dealt with through the punishment; as always, it was exactly the catharsis he had needed.

Grabbing the lotion from the desk drawer, he returned to the bed. “Lie down on your stomach, pet,” he murmured, pleased that Sherlock obeyed promptly, moving into the more comfortable position. Sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, John carefully began applying lotion to the welts, soothing the swollen skin.

He could feel the small spasms as Sherlock’s sobs turned to whimpering sighs, then dissolved into the occasional hiccup. And he could feel the way that the sub’s skin quivered and trembled beneath his fingertips, making his heart ache a little.

Another deep breath, bracing himself in case he had unintentionally pushed too hard, in his grief. “Are you afraid of me now, Sherlock?”

The answer was immediate, and said with more strength, now that the pain of the punishment was fading. “Of course not, Sir.”

Relief flooded John, and after another moment’s tender application, he set the lotion on the bedside table and shifted until he could lean against Sherlock’s headboard, reaching down to stroke his fingers through the sub’s dark curls. “Did that help you, luv?”

Sherlock turned his face to the side, peering up at John through his long, inky lashes. “Yes, Sir,” he whispered, eyes wide and wet and so very clear of their earlier unhappiness. “I am so sorry for how I hurt you, Sir.”

The Dom half-smiled, rubbing his thumb along the hard line of Sherlock’s jaw. “You’re forgiven,” he said softly, pleased by the obvious joy that his words brought to the sub. “Now, Sherlock, I need to know...do you--well. Do you want things to be different now? Or, as they were before?”

Forgetting himself, Sherlock pushed up to his knees, his still-cuffed hands rising to land palms-flat on John’s chest, his expression yearning and eager. “Please, Sir, I want--I need it to be as it was. Please...forgive me enough to take me back.”

It took all of John’s control not to roll over and push his mad detective onto his back and just ravage him, the words like music in his ears--but he had to bear in mind the tenderness of the skin he himself had just punished. Instead he grabbed the sub’s face between his hands, dragging him in for a kiss, loving the way that Sherlock instantly melted into his hold.

“Yes,” he whispered against Sherlock’s lips, “Yes, I’m taking you back, you impossible thing.” Tipping his lover’s chin up, John began pressing hard, biting kisses down his throat, listening with delight as Sherlock moaned and pressed into them, one hand sliding around to clutch the back of John’s neck, while its cuffed partner pressed helplessly against his chest for balance.

John reached out, his hand scrambling through the top drawer of his nightstand until he found the small tube, shoved impatiently toward the back. Still kissing and biting across Sherlock’s neck and chest, he poured a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, the reached back to slowly tease his fingers along the seam of his lover’s arse.

Sherlock flung his head further back with a cry of need, pushing his hips back into the touch, and whimpering John’s name pleadingly. There was no desire to wait, for either of them. Almost immediately John was pushing one finger inside, and when he felt the easy give of his sub’s willing body, he promptly moved up to two digits. The hot clench of Sherlock’s body, after so long, was almost to much for him to stand.

The submissive clearly felt the same, as he was already groaning, pleading with John. “Please, Sir, please, _God_ , just fuck me now, _please_...!”

John chuckled hoarsely against his skin, shifting to work in a third finger, thrusting and twisting his hand until he found Sherlock’s prostate, grinning as his lover jerked and pressed onto his hand harder. “I’m getting there, luv, let me have my fun...”

Sherlock stilled, trying to obey and let himself be used a means of pleasure for his Dom. John leaned back for a moment, staring up in wonder at the sight of Sherlock above him, coming apart from just his touch, his cock untouched and straining between their bellies as he wriggled in John’s lap.

_Two years, two unbearable, hellish years, thinking I’d never see your face again, hear you laugh, watch you fall to pieces crying my name and screaming in pleasure._

Need flared in him, low and hot and agonizing, and John yanked his fingers free, pleased by the low grunt of protest Sherlock made. The sound died in the sub’s throat, though, as he watched John gather more lube, slicking it hastily onto his own aching erection, and he obediently lifted himself.

Grabbing his hips, John lined himself up, then looked up into Sherlock’s eyes and whispered, “Sink down, luv, fuck yourself on my cock.” Sherlock obeyed with a desperate moan, impaling himself on his Dom until he bottomed out. John’s grip on his hips was bruising, and when he felt the heated, still-reddened flesh of Sherlock’s thoroughly-punished arse brush against his thighs, he groaned and reached for Sherlock’s face.

The sub tipped willingly into his touch, letting himself be pulled in for a messy kiss, John’s tongue delving in and dragging the moans and whimpers right out of him as he pushed himself up and down, riding his Dom’s cock as if it were his only purpose in life.

It had been too long, too many lonely nights, for them both; neither was going to last. Returning his hands to Sherlock’s waist, John grunted against his lips, “I’m...going to come, luv, going to--may I...come inside you?”

Sherlock whimpered, ducking to press his mouth to John’s neck, dropping needy, sloppy kisses and love bites, his hands trapped between their chests. “Yes, _God yes_ , Jo--Sir, _please_ , yes!”

The helpless submission in his tone, the compliance in his body, and the delicious clench of his arse around John’s cock was overwhelming, and he came with a low shout, thrusting hard up into his lover’s willing body. Above him, Sherlock melted with the pleasure of seeing his Dom achieve release, leaning in to continue kissing and sucking at his master’s skin, desperate to show how much he loved him still.

Before his orgasm could exhaust him too completely, John pushed one hand between them, grasping Sherlock’s straining prick and stroking him, hard and fast, loving the way that Sherlock jerked and whined at the feeling, his whole body shaking as he fought not to come without permission. Pride washed through the Dom in a tidal wave.

“Come on, luv, come for me,” he whispered, watching with delight as relief chased pleasure across his sub’s face, and Sherlock shattered, his release spilling out over John’s hand and smearing between their stomachs.

Without missing a beat, he raised his hand, and Sherlock sleepily twisted to open his mouth and offer his tongue, lapping delicately until he had sufficiently cleaned his Dom’s fingers.

It was a while before strength returned to either of them, and when it did, Sherlock insisted that John remain relaxed while he hurried to fetch water for them both, and a cup of tea for John, and then a warm flannel to wipe them both down.

Only then, when John was comfortably lounging under the covers, fully naked now and sipping at his tea with a deep sense of contentment, with Sherlock nuzzled up to his side--John dropped a kiss onto his messy, sweat-soaked curls into indicate his approval--and one long arm wrapped securely around John’s waist.

“Sir?”

John smiled into his cup, raising one hand to absently pet Sherlock’s side. “Yes, luv?”

“I’m so glad to be home.”

 


End file.
